


Fashionably Late

by silverjewelkitten



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fix-it fic, Post-Library
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:26:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverjewelkitten/pseuds/silverjewelkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-library River stumbles into the Tardis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashionably Late

"I remember it two ways, dying and not dying, and though I do love a dramatic ending, I have to say that not dying is much more fun."

And that is how Professor River Song returns to his life, a hundred years late but undoubtedly right on time.  
The Doctor looks on in shock at her, his brain unable to comprehend how she could possibly be standing there. You see, he does not remember it two ways. He wasn’t really there. “Come again?” He asks, a bit of wistfulness to his tone as he jogs down the steps from the console.

She smiles and gestures in a come hither motion to him, her hair falling around her shoulders like a golden halo. “How do I know you’re the real River Song?” He asks, even though he’s sure that it is. He would know if it wasn’t. he’s sure of it.

"Oh, you know I could show you, but I think we’ll save the fun for later." And once he’s close enough to touch she says much more quietly, "Clara." He sniffles and his hands frame her face, holding her like she might disappear. She’s solid, real. Not an afterimage, but the real River Song- back from the dead.

Her mouth opens like she means to say something but he kisses her before she can. Her hum of assent as she tips her head to the side is proof enough that she is real. Her hands in his hair are like benediction, like salvation.

When he pulls back there are tears running down his face and he hides his face in her neck, wrapping his arms around her like he wants to keep her there for the rest of his life, safe; whole.

He had promised he would protect her, and now he would be able to keep the promise.

"Travel with me?" He asks, his thumbs running across her brows and her cheeks so that he can memorize them again. 

"Of course." She whispers, leaning in for a kiss, and somehow he knows that this time means forever.


End file.
